


A fate worse than death

by MikeSierra



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: #CBS sniper, #a lot to unpack here, #angst, #bad sad ending, #could never do this to him, #family abuse mention, #for the sake of the story pyro is a woman, #hallucinations mention, #i didn't include engie because he's too pure for this story, #religious themes, #sniper is Very Bad at Priesting, #spy is a supernatural element that's neither heavenly nor hellish but he's Pure, #suicide mention, #the other mercs are all sinners obviously, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeSierra/pseuds/MikeSierra
Relationships: Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 5





	A fate worse than death

The inside of the dark confessional booth smelled like stale oakwood and cigar smoke. The priest, otherwise known as Mundy, couldn't be surprised by that: he had been the one smoking inside it, after all. For the smell of booze instead, the priest developed such a callosity that now he could barely notice it anymore.

He was just about to light up his first cigarette of the day when he heard the faint shuffle of the heavy curtains moving and a large person take a seat at the other end of the booth.

The man knelt behind the pierced partition, and the priest had to stop and listen.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

He didn't need to present himself, the priest easily recognised his gruff voice.

"Well, that's news, Jane Doe. Tell me." He muttered, sarcastic.

"I keep on hurting my family. My wife, my kid Jeremy… I always say this is the last time, but when I'm there, the blood in my eyes, heart's pumping like I was still in war, and instead of the congs, my family's at the end of my fist.

I don't know what to think anymore of myself."

"That you're a crap person, mate.

You said it, you don't change. You either stop, or make peace with yourself and accept the shitty person you are.

Go pray, I don't wanna hear your crocodile tears."

As he heard the stocky man move away, the priest gave out a loud sigh, finally lighting up his first cigarette. In no time, his whole side of the confessional was filled with smoke. He didn't mind, up to the point where his eyes started to itch.

Another pair of steps, lighter this time. A woman, probably, whose voice he couldn't really identify.

Someone new.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

The priest could sense agitation in her words, so he surprisingly just decided to listen without commenting.

She sounded quite young, shy. For what he could glimpse among the small holes in the partition, her face was covered in a dark handkerchief up to her nose. 

That was a pity, he thought light-heartedly. He would have liked to take a look at her, there was just too few new fresh meat in town.

"...Yesterday I killed my unfaithful husband. I lit our house on fire when I knew he was sleeping inside, after work.

I came back this morning, and have cried uncontrollably over his body all day.

His face...you should have seen his face… "

Her voice was bound to break into a whimper, and the holy man rolled his eyes in between all the smoke. Annoyed, even a little embarrassed for all that whining coming from the booth. It only stopped when the woman would leave by her own choice after a few seconds, only to be replaced by yet another man that the priest recognised being the town's doctor.

"Forgive me, father…"

"Let me guess, Ludwig. You're still making love with that man Michail, while both your wives think you work together. Why would God excuse you from the most obscene and frivolous of sins?

Go and pray, if that puts your heart at rest. Sure won't change things for those poor ladies."

The young priest tilted his head back, leaning on the wooden wall. He closed his eyes, inhaling then a sudden gust of air saturated with cheap alcohol as the last penitent entered the booth. Tavish. A wreck of a man, but a firm believer - the kind he despised the most.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinful thoughts… I don't work, I don't have a family… Can't find the meanin in anythin I do. I constantly think 'bout endin it."

"And have you come here for forgiveness, or a sign to finally do it?"

The man took a few seconds to decide, apparently blind to the cynicism in the words of the priest.

"...For forgiveness, father."

"Then ask God. I can't be the one granting it, when there's Him to speak to. Go pray."

  
  
  
  


The priest would have easily bargained a way out of that situation in exchange for whatever object was most valuable in his house.

Not just that specific evening, but his whole life in that wretched town together with sheepish people - people whose only solution to their miserable lives was seemingly either harming others or themselves.

For every time he fantasized about running away in another town, designing another life for himself - he'd understood clear as day that his sickness didn't come for the outside world but from his own mind.

What's more, in that doomed town, he - he of all! - should have led their spiritual lives into the right path.

He just couldn't take it anymore.

Maybe he really was no better than the other villagers.

  
  


He was about to stand up and leave, when another penitent unexpectedly entered the booth. Mundy couldn't make out his features from within the booth, nothing but a couple of sharp ice blue eyes leaning closer towards the pierced wall as if to stare back intently. The priest winced at them, standing still in the worry he'd make any sound and lose what the other would have to say. The voice that followed such eyes was calm, inhumanly smooth, but articulated his words in such a clear and neutral manner that the priest couldn't pinpoint an accent. He wasn't a local, for sure, or else he'd have recognised him from town.

_"WE WILL COME FOR YOU. WE KNOW YOUR SINS, MUNDY."_

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Had his mind not already been dazed by his previous stream of thoughts, the priest would have sprinted out of the booth and confronted the man that seemed to be directly threatening him. Instead, he took a few seconds to let those words sink somewhere deep within him, as if he needed time to process the inhuman tint in that voice - ringing in his ears like clear, polished metal.

__

He stood up, exited the booth. He wasn't really surprised when he found no one at the other side of the booth.

__

He took a bewildered look at the other villagers, all kneeled and lost in prayer. He spotted no one new.

__

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Cursing under his breath, the priest decided it was time to go home.

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End file.
